


My Girl.

by itsahardyparty



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Choking, F/M, Frau Schneider deserves the WORLD, Gender Dysphoria, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sex, Trans Female Character, love and acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahardyparty/pseuds/itsahardyparty
Summary: Frau Schneider comes out of her shell, but only for him.





	My Girl.

She wraps her hands around his throat. 

His eyes fall shut in relief, in ecstasy, and he squirms, large hands grabbing her wrists, but making no move to push away or force them back. 

She is tall, but proper, perfect, delicate but strong. Her hands squeeze the sides of his neck, push down lightly on his Adam’s apple. He gasps, toes curling as her weight shifts—from sitting on his stomach to kneeling up, leaning forward to leverage her weight against her uncomplaining victim. 

His Cupid’s bow lips part as she releases the pressure on his throat, and then his eyes fly open as she reapplies it suddenly, a desperate gasp leaving his throat. 

He squeezes her wrists. She does not relax her hold on him; instead, she savors his helplessness and those ragged, quick, excited little breaths grazing her elegant forearms.

He is helpless underneath her, and she relishes every moment of it—he stares up at her, first in surprise at her unflinching readiness, and then... _adoration._ Yes, that’s it, he adores her and her apathy for him—she does not care about him, or his pleasure, only herself, and he lives to please. 

Everything about her is perfect, proper, erect—she is _graceful_. Her polished shoes toed off by the door, and her neatly folded suit jacket draped over the back of a chair—even mid-copulation, she is perfectly composed, not a curl out of place. The men fall before her, willing servants, and she devours them one by one. 

Till shifts his arm so he can touch himself, and Frau Schneider presses a stockinged knee into his arm, lifting one hand off his throat so she can slap him briskly across the face. 

Till stares up at her, eyes wide with surprise. Still, he makes no move to withdraw from her. 

“I did not tell you to move.” 

He blinks. “...I’m sorry.” 

The Frau leans in again, fingers wrapped around Till’s broad throat, and lowers her painted lips to his ear. “Good boy.” 

“Let me touch you,” Till breathes, fingers itching against her ankles anxiously. “Please,” he hastily adds. He stares up at her, fixed, devoted, and somehow, gets through to her. 

“Alright,” she murmurs, looking down at him sternly. “But if you overstep—“

“I won’t,” he whispers, resting his big, warm hands on her calves. He was so eager for her. Even the more submissive men came with a sense of entitlement, a sense that Schneider should be _happy_ to be fucked by any one of them, and she never was. Till was earnestly, genuinely awed by her presence and struck by all the things about herself she loathed. She is perfect, and Till is nothing, and he is the first man to understand that. 

His hands meet the backs of her knees and gently run up her legs, brushing the hem of the conservative skirt that was bunched up around her thighs. Straddling Till’s chest had brought her hemline higher than perhaps she was usually comfortable with. But there was only her judgement this time, not his. He took no notice of her narrow hips, her curve-less legs, or the flatness of her chest—he saw a woman. 

Reality was hard to parse, sometimes, and too often Schneider simply saw a man in a dress and clownish makeup when she managed to brave the mirror. 

“You are so beautiful,” Till whispers, voice quieted with reverence, hands stilling before they can slide underneath her skirt. He can feel the bands of her thigh-high nude stockings, and he smiles—Schneider is a perfectionist, but very impatient. It didn’t surprise him that the Frau would find pantyhose to be a terrible inconvenience. 

“Are you satisfied now?” she murmurs tersely, feeling oddly vulnerable. She wanted him to stop, but she also hoped he wouldn’t. 

“Of course not,” Till murmurs, squeezing the soft flesh of her thighs. She was so warm against him, her weight pressing pleasantly against his stomach. “I am never satisfied.” 

She cracks a small, affectionate smile, and threads her fingers through Till’s dark hair. Never, ever satisfied. 

He looks down at his hands, waiting, then up to her face again. Good boys ask permission. 

“May I continue?”

Frau Schneider did not allow men to touch her. Frau Schneider hardly allowed anyone to touch her, and she did not dress like someone who wanted to be touched. She was sure to avoid invitation. She was not something to be consumed. She was a consumer. 

“Yes,” she murmurs, in spite of herself.

Till’s rough fingers drag slowly past the stockings, and he’s a little surprised to find garters. They were the one beautiful, sexy thing she allowed herself, and nobody else could see them. 

He cherishes every inch of skin he’s allowed to come in contact with, and finally Till’s hands grasp her hips gently underneath her skirt, almost cradling them. He distinctly felt lace underneath his hands. 

Frau Schneider leans forward again and squeezes Till’s throat, lips twitching when he grips her hips hard and his eyes roll back a little. She could feel his cock straining against the confines of his jeans as he writhes against her. He was desperate for friction, for relief, and she was going to withhold it until he was a mess.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she purrs, no indication in her voice of how difficult it actually was to choke Till. 

Till nods desperately, cheeks flushed with the effort to breathe, blue-green eyes hooded with lust. 

She smacks him again, grabbing his jaw and leaning down to look at him. “That is not why we are here, though. Is it?”

“No,” Till wheezes, pushing his hips up into hers and grunting when she slaps him again, this time hard enough to leave a mark. 

“This is not about _you_.” She puts all her weight into choking Till a final time, before releasing him, sitting back, and climbing off him slowly. 

His eyes follow her adoringly as his chest heaves, gaze hanging on her every move. She stands pin-straight and confident, head up, as she straightens out her disturbed skirt. 

“Come. Down here.” 

Till lowers himself off the bed and onto the floor, and kneels in front of Frau Schneider, staring up at her expectantly. 

“Do I have to do everything?” she murmurs, lip curled in a slight sneer. “Beg me.” 

“Please let me please you,” he breathes, lifting his hands to rest them against her thighs. She almost pushes him away, but thinks she could maybe get a better reaction from him if she just doesn’t react, and she’s right—he whines. 

“What are you going to do to show me you deserve me?” Frau Schneider demands, grabbing his jaw and pulling his head up so he will look at her. 

Till pauses for a moment, considering his options, then finally blinks up at her. “What would you like me to do?”

Schneider physically recoils, almost stepping back. She’d never been asked about her boundaries or her preferences before—she simply asked, they responded, she agreed to allow them to serve her. Men were stupid. Their ideas were limited. And here Till knelt, holding the fabric of her skirt like he was afraid she’d leave, staring up at her with the most earnestly expectant face she’d ever seen. His already-large eyes were wide, almost innocent. 

“I...don’t know,” she admits quietly, voice coming out softer than she intended. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing,” Till replies, running the pads of his thumbs over her hips. “I want whatever you want.” 

Schneider’s face burns with discomfort. She had been given nothing but freedom to boss him around, and yet she couldn’t think of a single thing. He’d caught her so completely off guard that it was hard to recover the upper hand. 

“...anything. Just...do something. I’ll tell you to stop.” 

Till nods up at her, sliding his hands up the small of her back, then gently reaches down to tug the button and zipper on the back of her skirt open. His eyes never leave her face, and that is the daunting thing about Till—other men would stare at her body and her body alone. Till watched her face for any signs of discomfort, all the while committing those perfect blue eyes and sharply defined cheekbones to memory. 

She stares at some spot on the eggshell-white hotel room wall as Till slowly tugs the skirt down her long legs. He’d been right, he’d felt lace—a very tasteful black lace bikini cut, and, of course, the black garters to match. 

Frau Schneider rests a hand on Till’s broad shoulder for balance, so that she can step out of her skirt. Till slides a hand up underneath her blouse, fingers traveling up her side, then slowly begins to unbutton from the bottom up. 

“Wait.” 

Till withdraws his hands immediately, sitting back on his heels. “I’m sorry.”

“No—no.” She shuts her eyes, then rolls them—this was _frustrating._

“What is the matter?” Till murmurs, gently reaching for her hand. 

Frau Schneider almost yanks her hand back, but Till squeezes it—not forcefully, but comfortingly, and continues to stare up at her with those baby blue eyes. 

She sighs. “I do not....do this. Not usually.” 

“So you are...shy?”

If “shy” were another word for cripplingly self-conscious and self-critical, then yes, Frau Schneider was shy. If it were an alternate term for intensely dysphoric, then she would be Bashful the dwarf from Snow White. 

“Just do not judge me,” she murmurs, peeking down at him with one eye. “Please.” 

Till stares up at her for a long moment, and then earnestly assures her, “I would never judge you.” 

Schneider does not crack, or cry; she simply squeezes Till’s hand back and reaches up to preen her curls. “Very well. You may continue.” 

Till unbuttons her blouse all the way up, surprised to find a bralette to match the panties she was wearing. 

“What are you staring at?” she demands, folding her arms. 

Till nudges them away and tugs lightly at the lacy band of the bralette, staring up at her. “You dress like a teacher. But this is so _pretty_.”

Surprised, Schneider actually smiles at that, a blush filling her fine cheeks. “...do you really like it?”

“Yes, of course. You look beautiful.” Till puts his hands on her waist and pulls her forward gently, kissing her stomach, and then her hip, and then her waist—he smiles against the soft flesh when he feels fingers in his hair. 

“Stand up,” Frau Schneider murmurs, eyes following Till up as he straightens to match her height. He still watches her expectantly, deferring to her for guidance. Still, allowing her all the control. 

She gently rests a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in so she can press her lips to his. 

“What would you like to do?” 

Schneider cocks her head, threading her fingers through Till’s hair softly. “I would like to be your girl.” 

Till smiles a little and cups her cheek. “Do not be silly. You are already my girl.” 

She giggles at that, too, and wraps her arms around his neck, and Till could almost swear that her eyes grew misty for just a moment. 

He lifts her up and Schneider _gasps,_ wrapping her legs around him as he lays her down on the bed. Till worked so hard to make himself seem so small, that it was easy to forget exactly how strong he was. 

“Wait—wait,” Frau Schneider whispers, stroking Till’s hair when he leans down to kiss her neck. “Wait, I’ve never—this won’t feel the same as—“

“Shush,” Till murmurs, running his hands up her thighs. “I do not care about that.” 

And, to Schneider’s surprise, he didn’t. Till was not disgusted, put off, or otherwise made uncomfortable by her body. Schneider, who hardly liked to be touched, let alone fucked, was finally able to relax and enjoy herself, comforted by the feeling of Till’s weight on her and the rhythmic thudding of the headboard against the wall. 

“We’re going to get a noise complaint,” she points out breathlessly, pulling Till into another deep kiss and digging her pink-painted nails into his back. “Oh, fuck...” 

“Let them complain,” Till responds, voice rumbling in his chest as he grips her hips. 

Even on top, in control, Till was coming apart under Frau Schneider’s hands. He was coated in a fine layer of sweat, eyes shut tight, face buried desperately in her neck. Schneider had her stockinged legs wrapped around Till’s back, pulling him in closer to her. Her perfection had been thrown by the wayside, if only for a little while—the runs in her stockings and her beautiful golden curls, now discarded so that Till could run his fingers through Schneider’s actual hair, painted a different picture of her than what she was normally willing to project. But what could she say? Till just brought it out of her. 

“Please,” she breathes, back arching and thighs tightening around Till’s waist. That unfamiliar pressure was beginning to build in the base of her stomach, her breath was quickening—in a moment of weakness her hand flies down between her legs so she can give herself some relief. 

She never thought a man would make her _beg_.

Till leans back so he can readjust, sitting back on his heels for a moment so he can push Schneider’s thighs back against her chest. When he pushes into her again, her eyes roll back. There was a lot... _more_ to Till than the missionary position would have one believe. 

“Are you okay?”

“Shut up!” Frau Schneider digs her nails into Till’s shoulders hard, breaking the skin in a handful of places, and when he leans down over her again, she rakes her nails up his back, pushing her other hand down between her legs again. 

Till had never seen Schneider cum before, but like everything else about her, it failed to disappoint. She arches up beautifully, trembling, eyes shut tight and mouth open, toes curled in her stockings, and only letting out a strangled gasp. Her bralette strap had been dragged down her toned shoulder, and her lips were full and flushed from kissing. She was such an intimidating presence, yet so quiet as she made a mess of herself. He stops to look down at her, admiring the view that only he was entitled to, watching as Schneider sighs, opens her eyes, and looks up at him.

It is with a small smile that she comes back to herself. Till was beautiful, glistening with sweat, hair sticking up wildly, and the pink stain of her lipstick around his full lips. And, as always, he stares down at her with large, inquisitive eyes, searching for any sign that something may be wrong. 

"You haven't finished, have you?" she murmurs hoarsely, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. He shakes his head lightly as she strokes the soft skin with the pad of her thumb. "Well, you are my good boy. I'll make sure you are very well taken care of." She glances down at Till's discarded clothing, gathered in an unceremonious pile beside the hotel bed. "Hand me your belt."

Till nods obediently and leans over her, still _inside_ her, to tug his belt out of the belt loops of his jeans. "Here."

"What a good boy," Frau Schneider purrs, feeding the tail end of the belt through the buckle, and slipping it over his head like a noose. "Now...you may fuck me."

Till certainly doesn't have to be told twice, and dips his head to continue with the pace he'd set before. He pushes one of Schneider's thighs up and snaps his hips forward, letting out a low groan when she wraps the belt around her wrist and _pulls_ until it's tight around his throat. He lets out a breathless whine, jerking his hips forward and twisting his fists in the bedsheets on either side of Schneider's head. 

Schneider twists a fistful of Till's hair and yanks the belt harder, smirking when he actually whimpers and begins to thrust into her faster. 

"Gooooood boy," she croons, kissing Till's jaw and yanking the belt roughly. "Are you going to cum for me?"

He nods desperately, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, and in response, Frau Schneider pulls on the belt until Till sees spots. He jerks forward hard once, twice, thrice--

Till stills, shoulders trembling, mouth agape, and Schneider finally loosens the belt when she feels him beginning to relax.

"You are so good," she whispers, wrapping her arms around him when he all but collapses on top of her, his chest heaving. Till wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, nestling easily in the curve of her neck. Schneider plays with his hair softly, tracing circles into Till's shoulder with her free hand. "Was that...for you, was it..."

"You are amazing," Till mumbles, voice muffled against her collarbone. She smiles as he reemphasizes his point by pressing a few messy, affectionate kisses to her shoulder and throat. 

The two of them stay like that for a while, despite Schneider's slight discomfort with the stickiness, before Till rolls over and allows her to curl up against his chest. 

"So...would you like me to call you something new?" Till ventures, stroking her short-cropped, dark hair. He never understood why she liked that wig so much. Each strand of her natural hair was a perfect little curl. 

"What?" She peers up at him, brows furrowed with confusion. "Why?"

"Because _Christoph_ is..."

"You do not call me Christoph," she points out, poking Till's chest. "You call me Schneider."

That was a good point, he supposed. Even if she decided that she wanted to be called Suzanna or Ulrike or Ana or Julia...the Schneider part would not change. That was smart of her, then, to go by something that was gender-neutral. 

"Alright," he murmurs, grinning when Schneider presses a kiss to his jaw, then tries to smudge away the lipstick with her thumb. "Schneider it is, then."

"Mhm." She nods, yawns a little, and curls closer to Till, nestling right underneath his chin. His chest was so solid; it was so much better than the hotel pillows. "We should order room service."

Till grins again, unceasingly amused by her. "Oh?"

"Well, you will order. I will have a shower."

"And why do you get the shower first?"

"Because I am sticky. And I am a _lady_."

He giggles quietly. "That's true. You are a lady."

Schneider begins the arduous process of pulling herself out of bed, stumbling when she finally stands. Till had _wrecked_ her. "Oof." She rubs her back lightly, then cocks her head down at Till. "Is that true? What you said?"

"What did I say?"

"You know." After a moment of silence, it was increasingly obvious that their post-sex haze had left Till completely lost as to what was going on, and he, in fact, did not know. "That I'm your girl."

"Of course."

She straightens, a little surprised. "Really?"

"Yes." Till nods, pulling the room service menu out from the nightstand drawer. "Of course you are my girl. Now go shower."

After all, it was such a silly question.


End file.
